From Nashton to Nigma
by theBalance
Summary: My own spin on the Riddler's origin story. Violence, murder, offensive language and sexual references. What's not to like? Finished but not proofed.
1. Prologue

**?~PRELUDE~?**

_The Riddler, Gotham City and its landmarks are all copyright DC._

You may have been wondering all this time where I discovered the name 'Nigma.' What? You're actually surprised to find I didn't come up with it on my own?

Question: why should I tell you?

Question: why should I trust you?

Answer to both: Because I'm pretty certain you do not actually exist. You are neither as real as the cane that rests across my lap; nor as false as the dream I have just awoken from. The one that has been plaguing me for the past fortnight. The one where She embraces me and begs me to tell Her tale.

Riddle me this, Dear Soul: Why now? After nearly two decades have passed since I last kissed the tears from your cheeks.

Do you fear I will soon forget you?

Do you fear I blame you for that broken promise?

I will not forget Her – God Forbid she fades from my memory.


	2. Chapter One

**?~1~?**

I met her in the Second Grade about a month before the summer holidays, way back when I was still Edward Nashton, The Nobody-kid of Robinson Park Elementary. She had just moved to Gotham with her father from a small town on the outskirts of Metropolis. I think, that if she were here now she would not be able to remember the name of the place herself. Three weeks prior, her mother had died. A freak accident, Mr. Nygma always told her. But by the time she joined her mother, we had both deduced the truth. Ugh… listen to me… going off on a tangent like this…

Where was I? Ah, yes, Second Grade. By the end of that day we both realized that we had more in common than our initials.

Evelyn Nygma was always the quieter of the two of us but that wasn't the first thing I noticed about her, not by a long shot. The first thing I saw as she stood at the front of the class, scanning the rest of the children; was an angry red mark that hugged the back of her left ear – as though someone had grabbed her ear and tugged as hard as they possibly could. Below that mark was another bruise, perhaps left by a thumb as her head was jerked in another direction. You may have guessed by now, but had I known it then, that very mark became an omen of what was to come.

As I have already mentioned, she was usually silent. She barely glanced in my direction that day. She just sat with her head to the blackboard and listened intently, absorbing information from every sense she possessed. She never acknowledged me until recess…

I had found my spot, underneath the large acacia tree in a far corner of the school grounds as usual and begun to doze. I opened my eyes instinctively to find a presence next to me. Startled, I tried to sit up and in my haste, I lost my balance. Strangely, she smiled an apology and helped me sit straight, which wasn't odd in itself. It was the fact that she placed her hand on my back rather than grabbing my arm that was perplexing.

"I'm Evelyn," she said brightly.

"Edward," I croaked nervously.

"That's too posh," she screwed up her face, "I like Eddie better."

"Eddie then," I compromised.

With the introductions over, she looked around us: the rest of the kids were steering clear, as per usual.

Without warning, she grabbed my right elbow. I almost winced in pain when I realized that the way she held it, it didn't hurt at all. She lifted her other hand slowly and I could only watch, awed, as she brushed her palm over an area that had been a little swollen since the night before. She released my arm, and without saying a word, lowered her socks to show me two yellow bruises that cut across her shins. With a hand on my shoulder, she whispered the six words that made me certain we would be friends forever:

"Does your daddy hurt you, too?"

At the end of the day, I offered to walk her home and as it turned out, she only lived around the corner from me, in an apartment that overlooked Robinson Park itself. It was then she explained that she'd noticed how I held my elbow off of my desk as I wrote in class. That I must've hurt it somehow. She had seen at the start of recess that I'd avoided the rest of the kids and it dawned on her that I hadn't injured my arm through play.

As we got to know each other, we began to trust each other; and we found that all of the emotional and physical pain seemed to dissipate when we spent time together.


	3. Chapter Two

**?~2~?**

The first time we ran away was the second day of the Summer Holidays. I went around to visit her at about six o'clock that evening when I had this nagging feeling to not use the front door. I opted for the fire escape instead which, conveniently enough, went right up to her window. When I peeked inside, I saw Ev sitting on her bed with her head buried between her knees. Every now and then, her back would convulse and I knew instantly that she was crying. I had yet to see her cry and to this day, it was the most painful thing I had ever endured.

Steeling myself, I rapped lightly on the window pane to gain her attention. She ignored me at first, but when she finally looked up, I was horrified by how much that asshole had defiled her face. Both her eyes were surrounded by the deepest purple I had ever seen; blood streamed from her nose and a cut on her cheek. She turned away from me and leaned back onto her bedcovers – she didn't want to be seen, not even by her Eddie, who had already seen what a monster you are forced to call 'Father' can do to you if you catch him in the wrong mood.

I felt the tears prickling my own eyes as I tried as hard as I could not to call her name. Instead I tapped the window a little harder, hoping she would hear a plea in the 'rattatat' of the glass. I'm not sure how long it took, but I never gave up on her. Eventually, she stopped trying to ignore me and rolled half-heartedly off the bed. She came to the window like a wraith – a mere ghost of a child come to play on a cold Hallowe'en night. Trying as best as she could to hide her face behind her copper hair, she cautiously opened the window for me.

The moment I took her hand, I was struck by an idea: "Come with me." The best thing for us to do until we got older was to escape, however briefly, into the park. That first time, we spent the entire night underneath an ancient, gnarled oak tree. Often she would wake and cry out for someone to hold her – I was happy to oblige. I am not ashamed to say that Ev admitted I did so myself a couple of times as well. We were, after all only seven years old.

Over the weeks, we devised a way to keep in touch when either of our fathers were 'beyond control' - as we had begun to think of it. We could each see the other's bedroom window from our own. If we flicked the lights on and off, we could signal to meet beneath the old oak tree - It was another year before we discovered Morse Code and life became a little easier.

Often times over that summer, we'd spend numerous days in the park, often hungry. Some days it would rain: often cold. We learned that sometimes, we may have to steal to fill our small bellies, or to warm our wet skin. Of course we knew it was wrong, but we only ever stole to survive, nothing more. Honest.


	4. Chapter Three

**?~3~?**

By Sixth Grade, the very year that my obsession began, we were closer than we would ever be. Four years can feel like forever when you're a child. Little did Evelyn and I know, our time together was almost half-over already.

Mrs. Nordine… now there's a name I want to erase from my memory. The old bitch never paid attention to us – only the loud-mouthed kids. One time in P.E., we had to run around the football field. Evelyn had twisted her ankle that morning – you guessed it – fleeing her father. She begged that the old prune-bag would let her sit out but Nordine wouldn't listen, she insisted that Ev at least ran the length of the damn thing. Ev would've caved, too - if I hadn't protested by her side and refused to run as well. Welcome to detention, kids. I can tell you'll be spending a lot of time here!

I suppose you want to hear about the puzzle contest? Everyone wants to hear about the bloody puzzle contest. Each of us would be timed on how long it took to finish a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle and the quickest to finish it would receive a prize. Ev could see how excited I was about the idea of winning a prize. She gave me a little smile as we walked home, clearly amused at how much the prospect had changed my attitude. Just before we parted at the door to her apartment building, she blew me a kiss and said: "There's no doubt in my mind that you'll get that prize, Eddie. No doubt whatsoever." No wonder she's an E. Nygma.

I'd come to worry about seeing her bedroom light flicker more than being forced to do it myself. After all – she was just a girl and all boys know that girls need protecting. But that's just what I woke to that night at around eleven. It took a while for my mind to register the Morse she sent me: I.M.O.K.M.E.E.T.M.E.A.N.Y.W.A.Y: "I'm Okay – meet me anyway."

I scrambled out of bed, not caring if I woke my parents replied a quick O.K.O.K.O.K and pulled some clothes over my pyjamas. So that's why she'd been grinning all the way home: she was up to something.

I was stunned by how pretty she looked beneath the oak. The lamp behind her gave her a fiery halo, and a couple of the branches stretched out behind her like wings. She was definitely my angel that night – come to light my way. She pulled a torch from behind her back, placed it in my left hand, grabbed my right and whispered excitedly: "Come with me!"

As soon as we began to run, I knew what she was up to. Whenever I step out of Arkham nowadays, I can't help but remember that night: the adrenaline coursing through our veins, the pure euphoria exploding within our brains. This is freedom at its best, my friends.

I watched her pick the locks of the front door and the classroom door fully awed. When I asked her how she learnt it she merely shrugged and said, "TV. It looked easy enough." It was so strange stepping into Mrs. Nordine's room with naught but the streetlights to douse the shadows. No, that's not right – it's only Nordine's room during the daytime: at night it was all ours.

I shone the torch on Nordine's desk and saw the drawer she had kept the puzzle in was locked. "What now?" I sighed to Ev in despair.

She turned quickly, scanned the room and picked up the steel ruler from the nail next to the blackboard. She failed to jimmy the drawer open, but where one fails, the other may easily succeed.

I looked at the box like Indiana Jones gazing at the Golden Idol. When I picked it up just as cautiously, Ev snatched the stopwatch that lay underneath it. "It's quarter past eleven, Ed. School starts in less than ten hours. Practice makes perfect."

We did it together the first time, just to get an image of it. Then Evelyn packed it all away, shook up the box, spilled the pieces on the floor and started the clock.

"Thirty minutes, seven seconds…"

"Twenty-one minutes, thirty-five seconds…"

"Fourteen minutes exactly…"

"Seven minutes, nineteen seconds…"

But that still wasn't good enough for me – I had to go one more time:

"Three minutes, one second! Ohmygod! Eddie that's amazing!" Ev flung her arms around my neck, kissed both my cheeks. It's a good thing it was dark or she wouldn't've seen me blush – I sure-as-hell felt it.

The next night I died.


	5. Chapter Four

**?~4~?**

"Three times, Eddie," she confessed to me one night some years later as we lay naked beneath our oak. "That's how many times your heart stopped before they deemed it safe enough to move you from the ICU."

All mothers in the animal kingdom are fiercely protective of their young. No matter how timid the creature is, she will guard her children with her life. Any intruders who dare disturb her nest will instantly regret their curiosity as they are shredded in a whirl of claws, teeth and talons.

Not mine.

You already know the result of the contest: I won – I even beat my own record by twenty-six seconds. First Prize was a book. A little disheartening at first, but what a book it turned out to be! 'Puzzles, Riddles and Games for Every Occasion' compiled by one Brian T. Zer. Oh, what a title! Oh, what an author. Blessed is she who pulled this delightful tome from beyond my grasp and into my possession!

Somewhere inside me, I had foolishly hoped that my father would finally change his mind about me, that deep within his heart-of-hearts he'd realize that his son wanted nothing more than to make him proud.

Oh how wrong I was; and with a pa like mine, it always hurts to be wrong.

The worst part is when I have to re-visit this night every day in Arkham. To this very day, I hear his taunts; feel the back of his hand sting against my cheek; his heavy belt-buckle slash its way through the flesh of my buttocks. Some parts are hazy, others are as vivid as the question mark on my tie. The events that I could not remember for myself were cleared up by Evelyn underneath that oak four years later. Of course she was there, she was always there, if she hadn't been there I wouldn't be here. I only wish she had followed her own judgment instead of mine that night: I only wish she had pulled that damn trigger…

God he scared me when he got like this and thanks to Ev it was the last time he ever got this bad. I remember pleading with him, begging like a dog on my knees that he would believe me. "I'm not a cheat, Pa, honest!"

"Liar!" he had shrieked, grabbing my shirt-collar, "You filthy, deceitful little bastard! Only a moron thinks they can get away with lies! Are you a moron, boy?"

Scared speechless, I shook my head. Without warning, my temple collided with the doorframe. My head spun, those little coloured splodges spread across my vision. I looked over to where my mother was, silently begging for aide. As usual I was forsaken – she merely shrunk into the corner as she always did. A strange moment of clarity hit me. Have you ever noticed that sometimes happens in the middle of a dire moment? Ma had no reason to fear him: never in my life had I seen him strike her. And still she would not intervene.

How long was it 'til Evelyn arrived? Like Bilbo Baggins' 'What have I got in my pocket?' that riddle was never answered. I was only semi-conscious when heard her scream my name and her red-haired figure struck my father on the back with an umbrella. I saw her turn on him again when he regained his bearings. My entire body – no, my entire being - was searing with pain by this point and I could rarely focus my eyes.

She flipped the brolly in her hand and caught him around his neck with the curve of the handle. Whatever had possessed her to attack my father in the first place had given her inhuman strength: an eleven-year-old girl had just forced a full-grown man to his knees with naught but an umbrella.

Finally, my mother opened her mouth, but her response to the situation was far from what is expected: "Get away from him you little tart! How dare you lay a hand on my husband!"

"Hurry up and call a fucking ambulance you stupid bitch!" Evelyn shrieked back with equal ferocity. "Can't you see what he's done to Eddie?"

As if a trance had been broken, Ma obeyed and left the room.

With my Savior distracted, my father stood and knocked the umbrella from Ev's hands. Something small and grey clanged across the floor towards me, loosed from the brolly's frame. It was a revolver but I was far too sore, had lost far too much blood by then, to reach for it. Evelyn picked it up instead – I always knew she watched too much TV.

"It's not loaded…" My father taunted her.

She saw through his bluff, opened the chamber and pulled out one of the live shells. "You call this 'not loaded'?" Replacing the bullet, she looked at him down the barrel, positioned her fingers over the trigger and… hesitated.

She was breathing hard by now, sweating intensely, and she made the worst mistake of her life: She looked to me for the answer. 'Should I?' her eyes asked me.

With what little strength I had I shook my head no, after all, what good is a father's love if you must force it from him.

Ev calmly removed the bullets, slipping them into the pocket of her shorts and threw the empty gun at my father.

With the drama over, my mother returned. "The paramedics are on their way, you'd best go for a walk, Howard. You shouldn't be here when they arrive. Evelyn, honey," she asked sweetly, "could you keep your trap shut just this once? Oh, Edward, poor baby," not even sure if I could hear her (I did, though and I hated her for it), "Why haven't you learned, sweetheart?" Numbly, she picked up the gun from the floor as though it were naught but a toy and hummed her way upstairs to hide it.

"Oh… my… God… Eddie…" that was nothing like how she'd said it last night. Less than twenty hours ago, there was joy in those words but now… now it sounded like she was about to cry.

I tried to say her name a few times but all that came out was blood – yeah… like I could spare any more of that stuff.

I wish I could say that I couldn't imagine how Ev had felt as she played sentry at my bedside but I would find out only six years later. But this time, when her heart ceased to dance, it stayed that way.


	6. Chapter Five

**?~5~?**

Skull fractured in several places; three broken ribs; internal bleeding – everywhere; severe concussion; brain hemorrhage; right humerus – snapped like a twig beneath a hiker's boot; compound fractures in left tibia & fibula; nose broken in two places (though there is evidence that one of these breaks had happened earlier in life); even my left femur – one of the strongest bones in the human body - was broken. The doctors were looking at the x-rays of Humpty Dumpty.

I was in a coma for eight days. They say that a patient can hear everything that's going on around them. That's only partly true. Sometimes I would hear her… talking to me, arguing with my mother, arguing with her father. Or sometimes I would drift completely into oblivion. She spoke a promise that she would make again as soon as I regained consciousness.

Sometimes her father would come and drag her away - moments later she'd be back with me. The nurses would offer her food to keep her strength in her vigil – she would decline. Whenever my parents entered the ward she would move closer to me and I'd feel her squeeze my hand.

I never thought I'd see someone age thirty years in just over a week. When I opened my eyes Ev's skin was so pale, her cheeks blotchy, bags the size of grapefruit clung to her eyelids. She looked several times her eleven years.

"Eddie…" she smiled weakly and buried her head in the shoulder of my hospital gown. "Eddie… Eddie… Eddie… I swear I'll never leave you." It was hard to comfort her with both my arms in casts but I did my best.

The ordeal was the wake-up call we badly needed. Robinson Park was always a temporary sanctuary from a constant threat. Not once did it cross my mind that I wouldn't have Evelyn to fight by my side. But, if we wanted to survive, we needed to escape for good – we'd have to leave Gotham behind.

For that, we needed money. Where would a couple of kids like us get money? Ev's father had drunk all her inheritance. Mine was a dead-beat as it is. But despite its grime… despite its graffitied walls and blood-stained alleyways, the wealthy were drawn to Gotham City like flies to shit. They don't need all that dough, do they? But a couple of abused kids like us? We were your standard charity cases… technically – Gotham owed us.

But there was one problem: everyone with anything valuable in their possession was wise enough to secure it. But I suppose we'd just have to find our way around that obstacle won't we? We'd been stealing food and blankets since we were seven and we even broke into our own classroom to figure out a damn puzzle… How hard could it be to crack a measly safe? How hard could it be to pry open a till drawer?

All an obstacle really is, is a riddle – solve a riddle and it's no longer a riddle, solve an obstacle and it leaves your path for good. We'd best get started, then. After all: Practice makes perfect.

Alarms were piss-easy: the codes were usually hidden in plain sight, like the last four digits of the company or resident's phone number; the central digits of a council registration form.

Even on our practice runs, Ev and I became notorious: the papers called us the Codebreakers and here's why: We'd break into random security firms to teach ourselves to crack safe combinations. We never stole anything. Yet.

Taking half a side each, Ev and I would pull all the safes from their packaging, reset the codes and switch sides. We'd work our way through each others combinations and leave all the other merchandise untouched. It confused the hell out of the proprietors, let me tell you! For an added laugh, we'd set all the combos again, close the safes and leave 'em be, all before dawn. Who wants to buy a safe that no one can open?

When it came to stealing, we had laid down our morals. Struggling boutiques? No way. Multi-billion-dollar franchises on the other hand? You betcha. Frankie's Pawnbrokers? Nuh-uh – he was a good dude, sometimes when he'd see us in the Park at night he'd chuck us a couple of bucks to buy some chips or something. The Mafia-Run Falcone's on the other hand? Those wankers'd pay you a hundred for a ring and sell it for a grand. Would you believe we dared? Heh-heh.

Every kid needs a piggy-bank to stow away their, er… hard-earned pocket money, right? Evelyn had found a couple of metal boxes that belonged to her mother. One was the size of a VCR, that would keep our, um… savings. The other was a little bit bigger than a matchbox. They both had keys. The key for the larger box, she gave to me, locked in the smaller box. That key went around her neck and stayed until the time came for us to leave Gotham behind us for good.

We'd need about forty grand to get by after we escaped. Y'know… accommodation, food, travel… stuff like that. Until then, we'd have to get by as plain Eddie Nashton and Evelyn Nygma. Keep our chins up, don't let the Olds get to us too badly and just pretend we're normal, average, middle-school kids.

One day we can leave our hell behind.

Que sera, sera.


	7. Coroner's Report: Evelyn Nygma

**Coroner's Report, Gotham City Police Department**

**Deceased:** _Nygma, Evelyn_

**Age:** _17_

**Sex:** _F_

**Body Received**_**:**__ 0023 hours_

**Next of kin:** _Nygma, Everett. Father – yet to be contacted._

**Approximate time of death:** _2347 hours_

**Cause of death:** _Drowning - multiple broken ribs punctured both of the Deceased's lungs causing them to fill with her own blood._

**Notable anomalies:** _Aside from the extensive injuries and blunt-force traumas sustained by the Deceased, it appears there is also indication of forced vaginal penetration. We were told that the Deceased's boyfriend was present at the scene, you may want to question him. An embryo of approximately three weeks gestation was also found within the Deceased's uterus._

There you have it, in the coroner's own words. When I arrived at her apartment that night, the rain pelting down around me I found the door yawning wide. Everett Nygma was gone. The irony was not lost on me: What Evelyn and I had tried to achieve together, that bastard father of hers accomplished after tearing her from me.

I firmly believe there is nothing that Evelyn wouldn't have told me, ergo that was the first time her father had actually raped her. Ergo, that three week old embryo was mine.

There are far too many regrets in this tale. If I had been blessed with Evelyn's intuition, I could have saved her as she did for me. Instead I could only hold her blooded and broken form, waiting in vain for the ambulance to arrive. You've always been stronger than me, Ev, why can't you pull through? Moments before I heard the siren, her strangled breath finally ceased and I was left to kiss the blood from her lips. Thus far, my tears had managed to elude me.

With no next of kin, Evelyn was given a state funeral. I stood in the rain alone, listening to the priest mutter drivel about heaven and better places and dust to dust. When the gravediggers had finally left, I sat on the unmarked mound and whispered to nobody my own eulogy. The gist? That Evelyn had made my hell a paradise simply by choosing my side to exist next to.

That night was the coldest I'd ever experienced, it rained harder than it ever would again. I must've fallen asleep atop her grave… How else could she have come to me but… if it had indeed been a dream, would I have seen her so clearly? She wore the same dress she had worn to our Middle-School dance, the night we snuck away to set off the fireworks beneath the stands on the football field. The night I stole my first kiss from her. The emerald green dress shimmered in the moonlight. Only it wasn't worn by the clumsy fourteen-year-old girl who'd managed to sneak from her father's watchful eye to appear at my window to drag me out. It was filled by the beautiful seventeen year old woman I'll love to the end of my days, her copper hair pinned up and left to fall upon her shoulders. I could smell it as she silently embraced me: jasmine shampoo and chamomile conditioner – forever her favourite. I have never cried so hard in my life as I did that night in the arms of my dead beloved.

I spied an advertisement in this morning's paper asking for information on a John Doe found dead of a stroke in Metropolis. The accompanying photograph looked exactly as I had seen him in my dreams with my hands clasped tight around his neck. You'd know by now that I am not a violent man and murder is not my forte. They say an Eye for an Eye and a Tooth for a Tooth would leave the world blind and toothless. I say that perhaps a Life for a Life would merely leave the world a better place.


	8. Epilogue

**?~EPILOGUE~?**

Thus the phoenix Nashton died and from his ashes rose Edward Nigma. The prelude to the Riddler was over. The spelling? I wasn't going to rip off the only person who fought for me now, was I?

But what of the money? Evelyn and I had acquired over thirty thousand dollars by the time of her death. You can search for it if you really want to: the moment she died, every penny of that stash had lost all value to me. The box is buried beneath the oak in Robinson Park. The tree is not too hard to spot: the initials E.N. are carved in two different hands upon its trunk. Two of the largest roots converge to form a question mark at its base. Dig within the curve. But I might add… I possess the only key… locked away safely where not even I can get it. The key to the key?

Well… you may just have to earn that for yourself…

_If you break me I do not stop working_

_If you touch me I may be snared_

_If you lose me nothing will matter_


	9. Hush Little Riddler Prologue

**¿-? Prologue ¿-?**

No one is safe from it. Everything causes it. Nothing prevents it. Of course I speak of the dreaded disease we refer to as 'cancer'. Though, in all honesty, I believe 'cancer' is just a word doctors use to say you're screwed. They don't know what it is; they don't know what causes it. They never will. Cigarettes, television, cellular telephones, microwave ovens, coffee, alcohol, chocolate. It's all just speculation: multiple guesses to a medical riddle that has no definitive answer.

Some people think that the first thought that goes through one's mind when one is diagnosed is 'Why me?' I can tell you firsthand that's a lie.

"You're shitting me, right? Cancer? Are you sure you know how to read an MRI?" Four out of the five of Elisabeth Kübler-Ross' stages of grief had appeared to hit me at once. All bar 'acceptance.'

"Mr. Wynne, please," Doctor Thomas Eliott raised his hands in a gentle calming gesture. "Your reaction is by all means acceptable given the news, however, if I may ask you to keep your voice down and the profanity to a minimum. There are other patients-"

"OTHER PATIENTS?" I must admit, those two little words may have nudged me over the edge a little. "You just gave me a fucking death sentence and you're asking me to consider your OTHER bloody PATIENTS?"

"Mr. Wynne," Dr Eliott repeated. "If you would let me finish…"

Reluctantly, I returned to my seat. The poor bugger was sweating like a pig on a spit. Apparently my little outburst had frightened him a little.

"Mr. Wynne – Arthur," he said again. And if I may remark, I have never heard any of my assumed names used in such quick succession before, even when I'd had my surname legally changed to Nigma. "This tumor is very small, with a simple dietary regime and some chemotherapy, it may fade and we may be able to add several years to your, erm life… expect…an…cy."

"No."

"No?"

"No chemo. No diet. No change. Let me see that scan."

He passed the film over without much hassle. I had never seen any sort of tumor on any sort of scan before, but the ominous void that nestled in the nook between my cerebellum and my brain stem was unmistakable. Eliott was right – the thing was tiny, not much larger than a ping-pong ball. It looked almost… innocent. The sort of innocence that a young kitten conveys the moment before it begins clawing its way up your leg.

"You still wish to refuse the treatment, Arthur?" Dr. Eliott said quietly after giving me a few minutes to let everything sink in. "It's heavy news, I know that, but cancer is not something to be taken lightly. You can't just push it aside – Out of sight out of mind doesn't work when the problem is physically inside your mind."

"How?" I answered quietly, and when he merely gave me a puzzled look I elaborated: "How do you know how it feels to have cancer? You look pretty healthy to me."

"My… my mother has a cancerous tumor on her liver. She's in the late stages, I… I barely even recognize her anymore."

"Oh, yeah? So how's that chemo working out for her then, Doc?" I couldn't help but smile inside as his face took on that little haunted look I love so much. It may be shooting the messenger but what the hell – beggars can't be choosers, right? "In answer to your question: yes, I still want to refuse the treatment."


	10. Director's Cut: Puberty Quarrantine

**Deleted Chapter: Puberty Quarantine (after chapter 5)**

_AN: I suppose 'deleted' isn't really the right term for these chapters. They were in their infancy in my head when I originally wrote From Nashton to Nigma. I just had no way of scooping them out, so I just kind of summarized them and tacked them onto the end. I've noticed that whenever I read Stephen King I tend to catch the writing bug really easily (I'm about ¾ of the way through 'Duma Key' at the moment) trouble is: I'm running out of King books…_

"_You walk on like a woman in suffering, won't even bother now to tell me why. You come alone letting all of us savor the moment, leaving me broken another time. You come on like a blood-stained hurricane. Leave me alone, let me be this time. You carry on like a holy man pushing redemption. I don't want to mention the reason I know that I am stricken and can't let you go." ~ Disturbed, 'Stricken'_

Puberty Quarantine. I can't remember which of us said it first, though I'm sure Ev would insist it was her idea. Either way, the pseudo-title is perfect. Middle School is hell, as any other adolescent on our end of the scholastic food-chain would agree – the bullies that were fortunate enough to follow us here had just discovered their testosterone reserves and were itching to try them out on the next passing bookworm.

Evelyn began to wear baggy t-shirts three sizes too big for her and even on days where the temperature exceeded eighty degrees, she would don a heavy coat despite the sweltering heat. One day, she bought herself a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles, her eyesight was twenty-twenty and the lenses were plain glass. She allowed her hair to grow oily, resulting in pimply skin. The other girls would tease her for her appearance, Evelyn never seemed to care. I asked her once, if anything was wrong – she avoided the question like a quizmaster, changing the subject three times in one sentence. Her sudden change in behavior perplexed me until one day I found a way to solve this riddle. The answer, however, was an image I would beg any deity who would listen to erase from my memory…

I walked her home as I had done for the past seven years. Seven? God – in three more, I will be alone all over again… the best and worst ten years of my life will fill no more than fifteen pages in Microsoft Word. Ah, I'm drifting off again, my apologies. When we reached the lobby of her apartment building, I told her that I would not leave until she removed her coat. She knew I had a curfew and how strict my father was that I kept it. It was cruel of me to use her concern of me against her on this day and I will regret it forever. There: another lament, and not the last, I assure you. She looked at me with pleading eyes, I'm sure she often used the same look on her father whenever he got in one of his 'moods.' I do not want to say that I was like either of our fathers, but that day, I took a page from Everett Nygma's book and did not falter, no matter how that look pained me.

A bruise on her left bicep, nothing new there – she knew she had no reason to hide such a thing from me. Evelyn blushed and dropped the coat to the floor, "You know that's not it, Eddie." The frog in her voice played my heartstrings like a harp but I kept my face stern. I was desperate for the truth, no matter the cost to either of our pride, and I was sure Ev would thank me for forcing her to come clean. She kept her face downward, completely hidden from my gaze. Slowly, Ev shifted both her hands to the small of her back and pulled her t-shirt taut. Barely visible, but existent nonetheless, were a pair of budding breasts smaller than my fist. No big deal – all the girls in our grade were getting them, hell some of them even flaunted them. Evelyn Nygma was the only one who was ashamed of them. Why, you ask? I've already mentioned him twice in the last paragraph…

Everett Nygma stumbled down the stairs, breaking the silence. Instantaneously, Ev released her shirt and tugged at the hem, swiped up her coat and uttered just one word: "Go."

"Lishen thu hur, booyy," I never knew you could slur every word in a single sentence, but Mister Nygma managed it just fine.

I looked at Ev and shook my head, there's no way in hell I'd leave her now. But, oh how a little boy's resolve can waver when the little girl he loves begs him to reconsider.

"Please, Eddie, you'll only make it worse," I could never understand why she would say such a thing, or why I even obeyed her. You should've stayed with her, you stupid little coward! All girls need protecting, remember? When I turned to leave, I tapped a five words for her in Morse on the wall: Y.O.U.K.N.O.W.W.H.E.R.E.I.L.L.B.E.

Mister Nygma bounded forward and slammed the door behind me, I turned at the noise and, through the small windows, I saw him grab Ev by the arm – the left one that he'd already left his mark on. It wasn't that that bugged me – it was seeing him shift his other hand to her buttock that made my blood boil. And everything clicked into place like cogs in a clockwork soldier.

* * *

"Are you happy now?" I don't know how long I waited for her, only that if felt like eternity. Now that I knew what Everett Nygma was really like towards his daughter, my imagination had tortured me until her voice set me free.

I wanted to smile when I heard her, if only because I knew she was still with me. Instead, I awkwardly got to my feet – these growth-spurt things are a bitch – and embraced her as gently and as hard as I could bear. "I'm sorry, Ev, I am so fucking sorry." For about fifteen long minutes, she only cried, by the time she looked up at me, her eyes were so red they made my own itch. I wiped the tears from her cheek with a thumb. "How long?" I eventually found the courage to ask her.

"Since I've had 'these'," she answered, folding her arms tightly over her chest.

"Has he ever…?"

"No,"

"Did he make you…?"

"No, he only… touches…"

"Ev?"

"Yes, Eddie?"

"We have to get out of here. Soon. Or one day something so terrible will happen to one of us, the other will be left a shell." So sayeth the Great Prophet Edward Nashton.

* * *

"_A winning love is hard enough to find. When you've got it never leave it behind. Hold on and give it all you have. When it's given back you'll be a powerful man. And, well, here she comes – in walks my baby. Her smile is more than enough to tell me why: shouldn't you oughta be in love? Wouldn't you rather be in love?" ~ Dave Dobbyn, 'You Oughta Be in Love'_

Enough of this, let's fast-forward to a happy memory for once, shall we?

In the first week of Term 3, posters began to appear advertising the school dance. Attendance was compulsory for all students. But, of course, in the days leading up to the event, I had to get caught trying to crack my father's safe and become grounded for the next seven days. Evelyn had other plans though: she waited until my parents were glued to the television before rapping on my bedroom window. I looked up from my book (my favourite author at the time was Terry Brooks, I was half way through the 'Landover' series) and was stunned by the figure outside. Ev's fiery hair was pinned up at the back and left to fall over her shoulders. Her eyes were painted with a stunning violet, silver earrings were hooked through her lobes, and a spectacular moonstone pendant was draped around her neck.

I don't know how I found the strength to get up let alone open the window, but somehow I did.

"Come on, Eddie, we can't be late," she smiled radiantly.

"I don't have a suit…"

"Solved," I didn't notice the bag she had draped over her shoulder until she swung it around and handed it to me. "I won't peek," she added playfully as she dramatically turned around and crossed her arms over her chest. That dress… my god, that dress… there's no way I could ever forget that dress. She had chosen a beautiful satin number in my favourite colour: emerald green. It was a halter-top that clung to the angles of her body as though it was a part of it. When she turned, the skirt hurried around her legs like it didn't want to be left behind.

I dug the suit out of the drawstring bag - more green, with purple buttons and a matching top hat – and hurried into it. I didn't need to ask where she got it all: evidently, she had been on her own five-finger shopping spree.

"Are you ready yet, Ed?" She was getting impatient but she still didn't turn around.

I took the opportunity to scare her out of her skin: "I guess so," I answered, leaping out the window to land next to her. She stifled a squeal and tried to suppress a giggle.

"Don't do that!" she faked irritation and added: "Happy birthday, Eddie."

Ah, I guess I neglected to mention that little detail, didn't I? Oh well, you know now.

When we reached the Gotham Memorial Hall, all you could hear was the music. Sure, the students were there, but they – like most adolescents – just weren't getting into the whole 'dance' thing. The music itself was all the clichéd-school-dance-tunes everybody's familiar with: the Proclaimers' 'I'm Gonna Be' was played at least five times before Ev and I got bored enough to sneak out and find something better to do.

That 'something better' was across the road at the football field. To be more precise: in the storage shed, behind the training equipment, in a locked safe with all the professional-grade fireworks. None of this was planned, I might add, we just happened to find ourselves underneath the stands with half a dozen Sky Rockets, a couple of Waterfalls, several Air Strikes and a box of matches. We knew we'd have to set them all off in quick succession: surely the noise would lure a teacher or two, a dean and a vice principal all eager to sign our expulsion papers before the last Rocket diffused. Best birthday EVER.

I know, Ev was doing all this for me and I probably should've been watching the fireworks – surely they must've been spectacular – but I couldn't take my eyes of Evelyn. Every time a shot went off, the shadows on her face would dance to the distant music and her eyes would fill with wonder. A couple of months ago she was a mess, purposely hiding her beauty from an unwanted gaze; tonight she was Disney's Ariel finally finding her feet.

"Did you see that one, Ed?" her voice trilled with excitement.

What I can see is much better than fireworks. That's what I wanted to say, but my throat was dry and my voice had fled. I opened my mouth to speak and had nothing to say so I closed it again.

"Eddie? You ok?"

I will be, Ev. Just say my name one more time and I will be. Please? On the Fourth of July, I would often find myself under some punishment or other, struggling to sleep through the bass of each shot. Tonight, all I heard was her.

"Eddie…"

Thank you, Ev… "Evelyn, I… um… hang on…" I scratched the back of my head nervously and she smiled: she seemed to understand what I couldn't say.

She took my hands in hers, placed one of mine on her cheek and the other of hers on mine. She kissed my other cheek. "The boy has to do it first otherwise it doesn't count," she whispered enigmatically.

I nodded and kissed her, fully conscious of what I was doing, yet not knowing how in the hell I was actually doing it.

When the kiss ended, Ev smiled sweetly at me and wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face in my collar. The five words she said next were so muffled they were almost unintelligible but they rang in my ears as though she spoke through a megaphone: "I love you too, Eddie."


	11. Director's Cut: Ev's Alternate Death

**Deleted Chapter: Ev's Alternate Death**

_AN: you may have noticed Eddie mentioning he would soon find out how Ev had felt as she waited for him to heal even though she died before the ambulance arrived. Small plot-hole, right? Well, I'm here to fix that…_

"_I can feel you falling away. No longer the lost, no longer the same. And I can see you starting to break. I'll keep you alive if you show me the way. For ever, and ever, the scars will remain. I'm falling apart. Leave me here forever in the dark." ~Breaking Benjamin, 'Give Me a Sign'_

How the hell do I translate the events of this one night into words? Ten years had passed since we met, three since I first kissed her underneath the fireworks, two since we first made love underneath Our Oak. One night. One fucking night was all it took to end it all forever. She was THE E. Nygma. MY E. Nygma. Do I really want to remember how I felt back then? Do I really want you to know what I am like at my weakest? Riddle me this, Eddie: what do you get if you never take a chance? Answer: Absolutely nothing.

This entire tale is full of could-haves, would-haves, should-haves: I could have insisted she stayed with me; I would have fought Nygma to the death to protect her; I should have noticed all was not right in the Nygma household and carried her away before it got this severe. But I did not. I could not. There had been nothing to suggest what Everett Nygma had in mind.

* * *

I suppose you think that, after devoting so much of your precious time to hearing my saga, I owe you some kind of setting. Very well, then – I will slate your thirst for such detail. The end of the school year, final exams are drawing near and no matter what you see or hear: life goes on. Does it not, dear?

By now, Ev and I had grown bored with education. Half of what they tried to teach us we already knew, as a result of our own lust for knowledge. The rest? Well, it didn't really seem worth knowing in the first place. This was the time of the year when the idiotic brutes would seek out the likes of us: students much higher than them on the intellectual scale. They would offer us bribes: protection, a share in their dad's pornography stash and the like. A particular group of girls I recall from middle school sought tutoring from my Evelyn. They offered her makeovers and invites to the best parties and dates with the prettiest boys. Ev snorted into her Lift at the prospect, walked towards the girls and directed their attention to the group of boys on topic and began pointing to them all one-by-one. "Idiot… moron… momma's boy… closet homosexual… fuckwit… dipshit… aspires to be a Chip 'n Dale… ignorant… gullible… still believes in the tooth-fairy… and when someone asks who his favourite Beatle is replies with 'there's more than one?' In other words:" she looked at me and grinned before turning back to the Bitch Bunch, "No thanks."

The Alpha-bitch – Macy? Margaret? Ugh, who cares? – turned to me, adopted one of those gestures her kind revert to to express disgust and offered her wholly unwanted opinion: "Ed Nashton? You're settling for _him_? He's such a dork!"

"Yeah, well, at least he can spell it," Ev retorted. "Now shoo – you're making me stupid. And it's Edward, you Bitch!" She shouted after them before returning to the caff table.

"Well played, my dear," I raised my Coke to her and she met it with her own drink.

"Being a hand of karma never gets old," she shrugged and suddenly turned serious. "It makes me think, though: those kids over there," she gestured to a small group of teens that we always see scrambling their way through the educational system, "they work hard and what do they get? Fs? Ds? The occasional C-minus? They pay attention, struggle to complete their homework on time, do their best and they still manage to slip through the cracks. What do you say to giving me a hand tutoring a few of them before the exam pressure slips into the red?"

"I'd say you're a genius but you already knew that," I miss seeing her blush. Evelyn Nygma was one of the few people I'd ever met whose inner beauty matched her outer shell. Sure, she could be a bitch if she wanted. But only if you deserved it.

That little group became her pet project, her own personal riddle, if you will. Was it possible to save these kids from getting crushed by America's shitty educational system? Who am I kidding – if she'd been given the chance they would've passed with honors. As it were, in the end they only had me.

* * *

When The Last Night came, Ev and I had only been tutoring them for four days. Even so, a couple of them were already beginning to grasp the notions we passed on to them. On The Night in Question, Ev was supposed to phone me before our little study group would commence, we'd go over the schedule for the night, voicing any concerns we had if a particular student was falling behind the rest. It's funny the things we remember isn't it? I was sure Declan Glover was about to find the secret of unlocking algebra tonight, he'd come so close yesterday. I wanted to tell her that more than anything else. Why? I think that in an alternate world, perhaps one where Evelyn Nygma is now Evelyn Nashton instead of 'The Late' Evelyn Nygma, maybe – just maybe – another Edward Nashton has found his purpose in teaching the un-teachable. Just maybe.

The phone never rang once That Night. Not even a bored telemarketer let alone Evelyn herself. Alarm bells rang instead.

Rain pelted down around me as I traversed the two blocks to Ev's apartment building. I took no notice – my focus was set on reaching her, no other thought could possibly intervene. I prayed to every god I could think of, begging them to let me reach her in time. The moment I saw the figure shrouded in shadow burst from the front door of the complex, I knew my prayers had been left to the answering machines. For a split second, I contemplated chasing Nygma, running him down and clasping my hands tightly around his neck until his struggles ceased. The fantasy was shattered by a six-year-old memory: An eleven-year-old Evelyn looking down the barrel of a revolver to a nervous Howard Nashton. If I had given her a nod of the head instead of a shake, she would've pulled that trigger without mercy. Revenge is a patient emotion, fuelled by pure hatred until it ripens to perfection. Love, however, is fleeting, here and gone without warning. I must get to her before all else.

Mrs. Carrey, the old landlady, must have read the desperation in my face as I ran past her, she called out to me: "Master Nashton, I was just about to ring you. Slow down, please. The ambulance is on its way—"

"Just tell me what happened. Is she alright? God, tell me she's okay."

"Slow down, lad," she said again. When was the last time she called me 'lad'? "You're apt to send yourself into a stroke. Did you see Mr. Nygma?"

"Briefly. What the hell did he do to her?"

A few rubberneckers had opened their doors to the commotion, Mrs. Carrey shooed them away with the air of a politician dispersing reporters after a government scandal. "Come, lad," she took my arm in her withered hands and gave it an elder's pat-of-comfort. "Be strong for her."

* * *

The moment I saw her, I thought she was already dead: surely no living creature could possibly look the way she did. Her fiery hair was matted with blood, her right eye was swollen shut. A pool of thick crimson encircled her head, oozing from the corner of her mouth. Bruises in the process of blooming darkened her temple and encircled her throat. She lay curled in a fetal position, perhaps to hide her shame and nakedness.

I knelt next to her, bent forward to kiss the corner of her left eye and felt her lashes flutter beneath my lips.

"Ev," I whispered. "It's me, it's Eddie."

She smiled when she heard my voice; her eyes told me that even that small movement hurt her.

I was afraid to move her even though all I wanted was to take her in my arms and feed her my warmth until the paramedics arrived. Instead, I settled down next to her and caressed her cheek, whispering words of reassurance, repeating a familiar promise that I would never leave her side.

Mrs. Carrey heard the sirens before I did, admitting the paramedics. Everything after that was lost in a haze: there is no way this could've been reality. The ambos gently dragged me away form her, I heard ev call out to me, _I'm still here, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere,_ a disembodied voice that could only have been mine replied.

_Her vitals are dropping fast, we have to get her out of here._

_Call the E.D; make sure they have a bed ready._

_We'll need more than that, Sir: her lungs are flooding with blood. Some of her ribs must be broken._

_The O.R. then. Stop wasting time, you fools! Get her on the goddamn stretcher!_

_Pray for her, lad. God may be all she has. _That was Mrs. Carrey. She had taken my hand and was stroking it softly like a grandmother would.

_God's not listening to me tonight, Mrs. C. – I've already tried…_

_We're good to go! Load 'er up!_

Suddenly we were outside, the street flooded with rotating red lights. it looked like a cheap lighting effect in a b-grade horror flick.

_Get in, _Mrs. Carrey urged me into the ambulance. _You promised her, don't you dare break it, lad…_

_Nashton, was it? _I nodded automatically. _I need you to hold this steady for me. Don't let it move too much. She your girlfriend? _I nodded again. _We're doing all we can, kid. There's still a chance she'll pull through so don't go giving up on her just yet…_

For the longest hour of my life, I waited outside the operating theatre at Gotham Mercy Hospital. For the first time in my life, Charlotte Nashton actually acted like my mother. She arrived with my father about ten minutes before Evelyn was wheeled out of the O.R. _Oh,_ _honey… the old lady from her apartment complex called us with the news. We're so sorry. _No you're not! I wanted to spit at her. You NEVER liked her being around! Why would you start now you heartless bitch! You just want to make me feel worse!

_It was her dad…_ I answered instead, avoiding my own father's gaze. _If she dies… I'll… I'll kill him! hunt him down! Gut him like a fucking fish! He… he can't get away with this… I won't let him…_

_Calm down, Edward._

_Calm down? CALM DOWN? You didn't SEE what he did to her… they said her lungs were filling up with blood! How the fuck can ANYONE live through that?_

_Watch your damn language, boy. I didn't raise you to be no pottymouth._

_Raise me? You didn't fucking raise me, 'dad'! I raised myself thank-you-very-fucking-much!_

_Howard, this is a hospital, keep it down!_

_And let him speak to me like that? No one speaks to me like that let alone my own damn son!_

_Howard, if you can't control yourself—_

_What, Charlotte. 'If I can't control myself' what?_

_You can get out._ Mom finished shortly. _I'll get a cab for me and Edward. Go home._

_I don't want a cab,_ I said quietly. _I'm not leaving until Evelyn does._

_Honey… _she led me to the row of chairs lined against the wall and forced me to sit, my father must've grown annoyed and left because that was the last I saw of him before Ev died. _I truly am sorry, Edward. I know how happy that girl makes you. You probably don't remember this but when your father… no, when YOU went into hospital back when you were children, _–even now she blamed me, go figure –_ she never left your side. Even then she loved you, even at an age when she didn't know what love is. Tonight you need to return the favour, Eddie. Stay with her for as long as you can. God can't help her, the doctors can't do anything else for her. All she has left right now is you. Don't worry about school, I'll call them and say you won't be in for a few days, okay? Same goes for those kids in your study-group._

The theatre doors burst open and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in a bright, sterile room watching Evelyn sleep. The double-blip rhythm of the heart monitor seemed to harmonize with the constant buzz of the harsh neon lights overhead. How long did I wait with her? Long enough for the sounds to blur into white noise, that's for certain, for I only heard them again when they began to change. Mom came in a couple of times bearing food and coffee from the hospital cafeteria, but whether she went home or waited for me I have no idea. She stayed away from me most of the time – I suppose she knew how much I despised anyone with the job description of 'parent' right now.

* * *

At some point, the doctors advised me that, should she wake, I must dissuade her from speaking lest the stitches in her lungs came undone. Yes, I said it. are you pleased? _Lungs_. Plural. Not just one of them, _both_ had been pierced by five separate ribs. Another two of her ribs were broken, the rest had suffered hairline fractures. Bar none.

She awoke once. And I am forever thankful for that. A part of me knew that it would be the last time I'd be able to speak to her, or hear her speak to me. I loved the way she said my name… Eddie… Edward… Ed… she would always utter it with such care, as though it could break if you spoke too harshly and to break my name was to break me. Even now, I say her name, as she would always say mine. As though if I say it just right, I could summon her back to me.

I had moved forward onto my knees next to her cot, with my right arm over her body clasping her hand and my left holding up my head. It wasn't until I read the coroner's report in conjunction with her case file at the police station, that I discovered the reason for Mr. Nygma's initial outburst was struggling to thrive beneath my right forearm. Thus I fell asleep and thus I awoke with Ev's living hand stroking the stubble on my jaw.

The moment she whispered my name, I immediately forgot the doctors' counsel and scrambled to my feet, stooping to smother her with kisses. I stopped as soon as I saw through her smile to the sorrow beneath: she was already resigned.

"Don't give up, Ev," I told her. "We'll get out of here as soon as you're good to go, I promise. Until then, just hold on, okay? I know you can!"

"Eddie…" she said again, still smiling. "My Eddie… Don't… try not to… don't mourn me too long. And don't go blaming yourself – I know you will."

"No! Ev, you're not dying! Not tonight, not ever! You… you can't…"

"Why, Eddie? We're all mortal. The human body can only take so much. And… mine has reached its threshold. I don't want to leave you, but…" she trailed off, inhaling deeply, trying to fend of the sleep that was overcoming her. Trying as hard as she could. And failing.

_Ev! Don't leave me now! Wake up! Goddamit! Come back!_

_ I don't want to leave you, but… I just can't hold on anymore…_

* * *

Within half an hour her heart-rate began to falter and before I realized precicely what was going on, I was overwhelmed by doctors. I stepped back to make way for the crash-cart as the heart monitor rose to an amplified tinnitus, sitting with my face in my hands as the doctors tried to shock her heart back into action. But I think even they knew their efforts would be in vain.

_Miss Evelyn Nygma – Time of death: twenty-three-hundred and forty-six hours._

The head surgeon that was working Evelyn's case – Dr. Finger? Digit? Palm? Something like that – stood before me and waited until I lifted my face to him. His sympathy was clichéd, hollow, rehearsed, "I'm sorry, son. We did all we could for her but she's gone. Would you like some time to say goodbye?"

_Goodbye! We never said goodbye! _I nodded silently, walking slowly to Ev's bedside as the band of whitecoats left, shutting the door behind them. I dropped to my knees, pressing my lips against her cheek before burying my head in the crook of her neck, feeling the last of her warmth against my skin. In that moment everything sunk in at once: when I realized I could no longer feel her pulse. I have never cried so hard as I did that night, and I have never cried since.

"_White walls surround us. No light will touch your face again. Rain taps the window as we sleep among the dead. Days go on forever but I have not left your side. We can chase the dark together. If you go then so will I. There is nothing left of you, I can see it in your eyes. Sing the anthem of the angels and say the last goodbye." ~Breaking Benjamin, 'Anthem of the Angels'_


End file.
